A Series of Extra Scenes: His Last Vow
by LittlePippin76
Summary: Another series of scenes that occurred to me while watching the episode. Hope you enjoy. Pip.
1. Trust

**Another flurry of little scenes that exist only in my mind.**

**This one comes in after Sherlock has been returned to hospital after his escape.**

Trust

John sat in the visitor's chair by Sherlock's bed and fretted. Later, he paced up and down by Sherlock's bed, and fretted. Later still, he stared out of the window, watching the sky grow lighter as night turned into dawn, and fretted.

The noise from Sherlock's various monitors and machines was soothing. He hadn't spent much time in a hospital such as this one. He had worked in the military or the NHS throughout his whole working life, so this huge room with its comfortable chair and nice view were strange, but the machines were the same ones that he'd known forever.

Sherlock stayed stable, though unconscious, and the steady beeps of his machines soothed John's frayed nerves.

Nurses came to check on things through the night. John had not been pressured to leave or talk or do anything at all. He was just left alone.

At about eight o'clock, just as he was falling into a light, bored doze on the chair, the door opened and he looked up.

Mary came in. She was carrying John's rucksack and a carrier bag.

'I thought I'd bring you a change of clothes and some food,' she said.

'Right,' John replied.

She deposited her offerings in the corner and looked at John. She seemed nervous, which was ironic, John thought, given what she was and what she had done.

'Are you going to be coming home at all?' she asked.

He cleared his throat.

'Well, currently my best friend's in hospital care, so I'll be here, with him.'

'You'll need to rest at some point.'

'I'll probably camp out at Baker Street. It's closer. I can keep Mrs Hudson updated too.'

'OK.' She nodded, but didn't leave.

John continued to watch her. Eventually she gave him a brief smile.

'I think that we still have some things to talk about,' she said. 'I think you probably need to talk to me.'

'Yeah. Probably.' John looked at Sherlock, sleeping quietly in the bed. 'But I'm in my best friend's hospital room at the moment, so now isn't a good time.'

'OK.' She nodded and tensed her mouth. 'Well, will you let me know when it is a good time?'

'I expect so.' His mouth hardened too.

'He said you can trust me,' she said, her voice slightly choked. 'He said that.'

'Yeah.' he nodded. 'He meant 'should' though. I should trust you. That doesn't really relate to whether I can or not. He doesn't...' John fought for the words, 'he doesn't understand the distinction.'

Mary nodded, eyes full. 'OK.'

She turned around and left.


	2. Hospital room

**This one follows on from Trust.**

Hospital room 

Sherlock started wriggling for some time before he regained consciousness. John put down the paper he was reading and waited quietly for fear of disturbing him. The wriggling continued, so John stood up, just to check. John's expert eyes recognised that Sherlock was conscious for quite some time before he opened his eyes, but he didn't rush him. Very slowly, Sherlock came back to the room.

When his eyes did open, they were vague and unfocussed. John stood close so that Sherlock didn't need to look for him. He spoke quietly.

'You OK there?'

He was answered with a grunt.

'Are you in any pain?'

This seemed to take more thought. Sherlock frowned as he tried to work out the hidden meaning behind the words. Eventually he stopped trying.

'Water,' he whispered.

'No, you're nil by mouth at the moment.' John looked at the saline drip feeding into Sherlock's arm, and considered the possible reasons why Sherlock might be thirsty. His pulse was steady enough to rule out further hemorrhaging, so he just waited to see what Sherlock would say next.

When Sherlock's eyes opened again, they were clearer and sharper. Still not up to his usual standards, but clearer and sharper nonetheless. He looked at John's face.

'You haven't been home,' he murmured.

'No. I've been here.'

This earned another grunt. 'Can't hide here forever.'

'I'm not hiding!' John whispered.

Sherlock closed his eyes and uttered a low moan.

John glanced at the morphine drip. It was still going steadily, and John wasn't inclined to increase the dose just yet. Sherlock didn't complain further. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and looked at John again. He didn't appear to have anything to say. He just watched John.

'Your parents are here, by the way,' John said eventually.

This appeared to cause a little confusion as Sherlock glanced around the room.

'Well not here here. Mycroft's put them in the Marriot down the road.'

'Why?'

'Well, their son's been shot. Parents tend to worry about that sort of thing.'

'Oh. Aren't they in Oklahoma?'

'They came back.'

'Why?'

'Because you were shot.'

'That was last week.'

'Yeah, but you keep being stupid, so they came back.' John cleared his throat. 'They've asked me to come for Christmas dinner.'

'Oh, that's nice.' Sherlock closed his eyes for a while. He frowned and opened them again. 'When?'

'At Christmas. In December. They want me, you and Mycroft.'

'Oh. Why?'

'Once again; you were shot. It tends to focus the mind on the need for family and caring and togetherness.'

'Oh.'

'Mycroft's agreed, so you'll have to.'

'Mm.'

Sherlock slept again briefly. John sat down, but didn't start with his paper again. He stared at the wall. After half an hour or so, the shuffling and wriggling started up again.

John stood up again. 'What do you need? Stay still. Tell me what you need.'

'Don' know.'

'OK. Then just try to stay still.' He leaned against the bed and rubbed Sherlock's shoulder to soothe him.

Sherlock settled down. Eventually his eyes opened focused once again on John.

'You haven't been home.'

'No.' He smiled briefly, and patted Sherlock gently on the leg. 'I can't, can I. If I leave, you might climb out of the bloody window. There's only so many times you can do that without causing permanent damage.'

'And Mary,' Sherlock said.

John's hand retreated sharply and he folded his arms. 'What?'

'Christmas. Me and Mycroft. You and Mary. They wouldn't have asked you alone.'

'Oh. Well, yes.'

'But you haven't been home.'

John smile turned grim. 'Maybe don't talk too much.'

'Have you read what's on the drive?'

'No.'

'Are you going to?'

'I don't know. Seriously, you should stay calm.'

'I am calm.'

He stared at John until John squirmed.

'I don't know what I'm going to do,' John said. 'At the moment, it's all swirling round and round in my head. I don't know what to do. So I'm hiding here for a bit.'

'We can take her case if you want. I don't care.'

'I know.' John glanced at him. 'Thank you. But I haven't decided yet.'

'No.' Sherlock took a long breath. 'Well, you have time. Don't suppose they'll let me out of here any time soon.'

'That's true.'

'We could do it though. We could retrieve the pictures and stuff. Then you don't need to worry about her.'

'Yeah, that's not so much what I'm worried about. I don't care about the pictures or the files or reports that he has. They don't matter.'

'Don't they?'

'No. That's not the point.'

'Oh. I thought it was.'

'No. Anyhow, don't talk too much. Rest up.' John deliberately went back to the chair, as if to remove the opportunity to talk entirely. He was aware that Sherlock was still watching him.

'John…' Sherlock coughed gently, and John got up, just to check there was nothing wrong.

'You OK?'

'I wanted to say…' Sherlock seemed to drift off at that point. John waited, just by the side of his bed. 'I'm sorry,' Sherlock finished, eventually.

'For what?'

'None of this is your fault.'

A horrified, cruel laugh escaped John.

'She said the same. You said it was all down to me, and she apparently agrees with you. The two cleverest people in the world agree about that one.'

'She would agree. Of course she would. I'd done all the legwork at that point, and had given her an out.' Sherlock sighed. 'Besides, even if you did somehow choose it, that doesn't mean you deserve it.'

'Well. Good then.'

'Though you did choose it.'

'Right.'

'But the fact that you keep making incredibly poor choices...'

'Let's stop talking about this, shall we?'

'Do you still love her?'

John reeled under the force of the question.

'No,' he said, holding his voice steady. He was damned if he was going to cry again over this. 'How could I? I don't even know her.'

'Mm. Well you do now.'

'Not really.'

'You could read all about her.'

John shook his head. He leaned against Sherlock's bed and folded his arms over his chest again. 'Surely the more interest question is; why would someone like that, love someone like me?'

'Oh, I could probably answer that,' Sherlock said. He gave John a tired smile.

'Now that's the drugs talking.'

'No. Given enough time. Maybe twenty or thirty years or so. I could probably come up with a reasonable answer.'

John snorted.

'You see,' Sherlock went slowly on, 'what I can't understand is this; we're not so very different, Mary and I…'

'You are!'

'No, you said it yourself. We're not different. So why are you here with me, and not there with her?'

'No.' John stood up and paced away from the bed. 'Sorry, but we're not talking about this now.' He looked sternly at Sherlock. 'You need to rest.'

'We've both treated you appallingly…'

'No.'

'…we've both lied.'

'No. You never lied to me.'

Sherlock frowned. 'I pretended to be dead.'

The fact that he'd forgotten this surprised John. 'Well yes…' He looked at Sherlock, who was still watching him. 'It turns out I'm finding that surprisingly easy to forgive at the moment.'

Sherlock smiled at him. John came back to the bed.

'But the thing is; you never lied about who you were. You made it abundantly clear from the get go. You ran me across London, you told me it would be dangerous, and you acted like a monumental cock from the first second. You never lied about who you were. You told me, and you gave me the choice. She…' John bit his lip. 'She never extended that courtesy.' Sherlock nodded slightly. 'And I'm finding that massively hard to forgive right now.'

Sherlock breathed out very slowly. He paled and looked on the point of gagging.

'Right,' John said. 'Stop talking. Rest.'

'Mm. Maybe that's a good idea.'

'Of course it's a bloody good idea. I'm a doctor, for God's sake.'

'I have another question,' Sherlock said.

'It can wait.'

'What about the baby?'

John grimaced. Yeah,' he whispered. He stared out of the window for a long time. 'I'm damned if I'm going to abandon my child. I still love my child.' He stopped as his voice threatened to break again.

'Your child is currently contained within Mary,' Sherlock said.

'Yes, I had noticed that.' John tensed his lips. 'Therein lies my problem. There is the problem.' His voice grew quiet as he gazed out across London. 'I had thought, previously, even from the first moment you told us, that I'd do anything in the world to protect my child and its mother. I didn't realize at the time, that the mother didn't need my protection. But my child still does. Somehow. And from what, I don't know. So there we are.'

'So you have to protect Mary.'

John shook his head. 'I don't know.'

'We can't risk her trying something so dangerous again.'

John stared out of the window and refused to acknowledge this.

'You need to keep her close by. I can't see any other way at the moment.' Sherlock closed his eyes again, and settled back on the bed. 'Maybe when the morphine's y'know... I'll have something better. For now, keep her close by.'

'Mm.'

'John...' Sherlock said drowsily. 'Don't let her be right.'

'Right? About what?'

'Don't let this break you. Please.'

John couldn't answer this. He turned away, so that Sherlock couldn't see his eyes.

Sherlock wriggled and groaned softly again. 'Oh God, I feel ill.'

He'd turned slightly green, and John gave his shoulder a gentle rub.

'Well good. Let's use that as the perfect excuse to stop talking about my marriage shall we?'

'But...' Sherlock croaked.

'No. Don't worry about me. This won't break me. And I'll keep her close for now. Your way, remember? Always your way. So I'll do that, and I'll entertain your parents, and you'll lie quiet and still in your hospital bed until you're better. OK?'

Sherlock smiled faintly and closed his eyes. There was quiet for a few minutes.

'Come to Christmas,' he said.

'What?'

'Come to Christmas. Both of you. You have to.'

'Why?'

'Because your wife shot me. You're basically my bitch now.'

'Now that really is the drugs talking. Go to sleep, Sherlock. Your parents will be here in a bit.'

'Yeah. Always better to be unconscious for that.'

'Go to sleep.' John went back to the visitor's chair and picked up his paper again.


End file.
